Caged
by NinaBinaBallerina
Summary: Draco Malfoy, a hardened Death Eater, is trapped in a cage at the mercy of Hermione Granger, the new leader of the Rebellion. But the night is encroaching, and Hermione discovers all cages crack in the end.
1. Looming Insanity

**Song Suggestion: **I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME- "Choke"

**A/N:** I know, I know, I need to be working on my other story. But I have less writer's block when I have two going at once. And I just had to get this plot bunny out of my head.

**Warning: This story will contain death, coercion, dubious consent, and torture. It's an AU Voldie wins, so obviously its pretty dark. **

**Caged**

**Looming Insanity**

**Draco**

**Present Day – Five years after Hogwarts battle**

Two thousand seven-hundred and two: that was the number of pinpricks in the small white tile above his head. There were thirty-six tiles in all. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and heir to a fortune, had been reduced to this—sitting in a cramped cell and counting.

His small prison consisted of a cot with a lumpy mattress that smelled of old vomit, a sink with a leaky faucet, a shower head connected to the wall with a copper pipe, and a muggle toilet that flushed like magic.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The faucet's rhythm never changed, and his mind created static melodies to ward off the insanity it wanted to create.

_It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch_.

It had been three months since his capture. Three months of complete and utter misery. The boredom nearly killed him. His prone position never changed, except when necessary.

He performed his daily routine with efficiency: wake up, go to the bathroom, exercise, eat gruel, brush his teeth, exercise again, and then lie back down. He repeated this pattern three times and then would fall into a fitful sleep, only to wake up the next morning and start the whole empty process again. If he'd been a normal man, he'd be stark raving mad.

But Draco Malfoy was no ordinary man. The strength of his ancestors flowed through his veins. Pure magic thumped his heart, giving him strength and focus. However, despite everything, his sanity teetered on the brink. The edge was in sight. Any day now he would fall, and she would win. He didn't even have the motivation to sneer at that.

He kept counting: two-thousand three-hundred and five, two-thousand three-hundred and six. Numbers had become his friends in this sick, demented existence.

_It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch_.

Of course, it hadn't always been this way. At the beginning, he refused to be quiet. He stomped around, tried to find an escape, screamed his discontent, but as the days passed by his movements slowed and voice lowered. His mind unraveled, until all that was left were numbers.

He had turned into something pathetic. If he ever escaped, he'd kill her, removing one body part at a time, until she was in a million pieces.

_One million_, the number soothed him.

He heard a cough to his left, but he didn't move. The scientists (that's what she had called them) sat at long tables in their white overcoats and odd-looking bifocals over bubbling potions. He wasn't sure what information they sought or obtained. Nevertheless, they continued for most of the day, scribbling in their crisp, white notebooks and clicking on something _she_ had called a computer.

_It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch. _

Glass replaced one of his cell walls reinforced with powerful wards. _Her wards_. There was no privacy for him. At first it embarrassed him. His cheeks had burned with shame as he sat on the toilet or showered in front of other people, but as time went on, he cared less and less. In fact, most of the time he was vulgar on purpose. Anything to break up the monotony.

The glass wall was unbreakable. He tried pounding, but with nothing to throw at it, and no wand, his fists were useless. Even his bed was bolted into the ground, screws sticking the metal frame into the cold concrete beneath it. That amused him at first. Why the hell would he want to move a bed?

Now he understood. As the madness inched closer, he wanted to fling the hunk of metal into the stupid glass. Anything to prevent this boredom.

Tap, tap, tap. The glass vibrated as a finger struck it to get his attention.

He tried to ignore her, but his hate wouldn't let him. As pathetic as it was, she was his existence right now.

Tap, tap, tap. The incessant noise continued, the sound matching the annoying drip of the faucet.

His head turned, ignoring her prying gaze as he lifted himself up and out of his bed. His back cracked and creaked with the effort, not used to the exertion. Every day it seemed to require more effort just to rise from the stupid, lumpy cot.

His gaze found her brown eyes, and the clash sent a wave of hate over him. The negative feeling purified him, sending chills down his arm and leaving his mind buzzing.

"How was your day?" Hermione Granger asked.

His irritation spiked. She knew exactly how his day went. It was empty, just like every other bloody pointless day. The fire in his soul crackled with renewed life. Their interactions always started like this: she'd come in pleasant, the type of girl who tried to free house elves, but she always left cold.

He followed her movements like a predator, having discovered in the past month that silence unraveled people faster than throwing insults. It unnerved her, he could tell, because a flush spread up her neck to her cheeks.

"I've decided I will reward you for the good behavior you've been displaying these last few weeks," she kept blabbering.

That statement, much to his horror, filled him with joy. A reward meant something to do.

He walked forward until his boots touched the glass, towering over her. It was amazing such a small thing had become the bane of his existence.

Her curls cascaded down her back over her black uniform, face smudged with dirt, and her clothing had rips, mud caking her pants. She had gone on a night mission. Despite wanting to tear her into pieces, he couldn't ignore how her outfit clung to every fucking curve.

And it was a problem because he wanted to kill her just as strongly as he wanted to fuck her, and the thought made him want to rage as it always had. His restless sleep often was the result of dreams of her legs wrapped around him, mouth open in ecstasy, his hands around her throat as he buried himself inside her and squeezed the life out of her.

"But first, you need to give me something," she said.

He rolled his eyes. This was more like it. He knew there would be a catch.

"Going to ask for my eternal soul?" His voice grated with the effort. "I'm afraid I lost it long ago."

The side of her eye twitched.

"You can only walk out those doors as soon as you give us valuable information to help our cause." Her delicate hands pointed to the giant double doors that led out of the enclosure.

The hope the thought brought left him in physical pain. He knew what they wanted, and he had almost caved plenty of times. Somehow the words couldn't leave his lips. He wasn't a stupid man. The move would just ensure his death, for as soon as he exited this domain he would be hunted by both sides of the war. It was in his self-interest to keep his mouth shut. Growing up in a house full of snakes taught a person quick lessons on survival.

"I've already told you everything I know," he said.

She huffed in irritation. Days of this same conversation were annoying her too.

"I don't know why you think I will fall for that lie. The little information you provided led us nowhere. I know there is something bigger happening. There's been whisperings of it for the past six months."

She said this with her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring in anger. She hated him sometimes just as much he hated her. The only reason he was still alive was because of his position in the inner circle, their shared history, and because of her do-gooder nature.

He glanced back at the huge doors with longing.

"I don't know anything else."

She gave a muffled groan in irritation, stomping over to a table. She leaned over the wooden piece of furniture taking in deep breaths. When she turned back around her face was back into an irritating, gentle smile.

"You'll tell me eventually," she said, as if to reassure herself or the scientists murmuring in the corner. "We inch closer every day to victory. With the melding of muggle technology and innovation, you should be worried we'll win before-"

"No, bitch, I'm not worried." He rolled his shoulders. "But you should be. The Dark Lord will end you, just like he slaughtered the Order of the Phoenix, just like he killed Scarhead, and just like he tore into pieces your Weasel of a boyfriend."

She stepped back as if the words struck something inside her. Today she must be vulnerable because usually it took more than that to bother her.

Draco continued, enjoying this turn of events, "I'm surprised your little ragtag army of mudbloods and muggles lasted this long. You're an annoyance to the Dark Lord. A bee sting… no an ant bite. Something to swat away."

Her face scrunched into an unidentifiable expression before smoothing out into a mask of indifference.

"Well, he is a fool to underestimate me, just like you were."

Her words made him bristle. Yes, he had underestimated her, but he would never admit that to her face.

She placed her hand to the glass. "It seems I need to help you remember. I really wanted to give you a reward, but I see you're still being stubborn as ever."

His heart plummeted. No reward in his broken state meant certain insanity. He wouldn't last another two weeks let alone longer. He placed his hands to the glass, pressing his nose against the coldness. Then he gave a low scream, bringing his hand into a fist and banged it into the glass. It shook but didn't break. _It would never fucking break. _

She didn't flinch.

"I'm afraid I have to turn to drastic measures for your own sake. For the next week, you'll reside in darkness. No living soul will be allowed to talk to you besides me. If you feel the need to break down and give us the information, then just wave to the camera over there."

She pointed to a black thing in the corner.

In a rage, he stormed across the room and ripped his mattress off his bed. He bellowed like a rabid animal, chest heaving.

With a small motion from Granger all the scientists exited the room, leaving only the fucking Mudblood to stare at him. He stopped and seethed, trying to kill her with his eyes.

She had the audacity to give a look of pity, before turning to leave. As if she forgot something, she turned back around to face him.

"Oh, and Malfoy"

"Yes", he answered with clenched teeth.

"Have fun sleeping on the ground."

With a flick of her wrist, his bed disappeared.

The added punishment was personal, from her to him. For taunting her about Potty and the Weasel. She acted like she pitied him, but he knew a small part of her enjoyed this power reversal.

She walked out of the double doors, slamming them behind her. The lamps flickered out, leaving Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and heir to a fortune, in complete darkness.

He had no people to hate in this darkness, no numbers to soothe him, only a looming certainty of insanity.

He glared at where the black box was, hoping she could still hear him. The muggle device struck him as clever. Though, as he found out while trapped in the cell, many things the muggles did were clever.

"If I get out of here Granger, I'm going to smash your brains out. Do you hear me? I'm going to make it hurt."

Now trapped in the darkness, he only had his twisted memories to accompany him. He sat on the cold ground and imagined what he'd do when he escaped and had Granger in his grasp.

_It was all her fault, the stupid bitch. _


	2. Sparks of War

**Song Suggestion:** Jacob Lee- "Demons" (Philosophical Sessions)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything by J.K Rowling or Warner Brothers. This chapter contains direct quotations form the movie.

**Sparks of War**

**Draco **

**Hogwarts Battle**

The war should have ended with a dead Harry Potter. Hagrid came out of the forest clutching the limp body, and it didn't take a genius to understand the light failed. Draco thought he would pop back up at any moment. Wouldn't that be something the fucking saint would do: come back to life miraculously and save the wizarding world?

Draco never thought he would ever say it, but it was so _wrong_ to see his ashen face, the mouth hanging open. He looked as if he was sleeping, except for the vacant green eyes. Draco tried not to stare at them too long.

The Hero wasn't supposed to die.

_Why did he have to fucking die? _

Draco found himself plucking an odd emotion. His eyes watered; his chin quivered. He had always told himself Potter was the enemy, so many times he almost believed it. Now he knew better. Draco never liked the prick, but he never wanted him dead. Whenever he said those things, it was just his father speaking. Draco only hated him for embarrassing him at every turn, something he had never experienced before he stuck his hand out at the age of eleven, offering friendship only to be rejected by the git.

Potter dead meant Voldemort won, and Draco refused to picture a future where that happened.

He stared at the lightening shaped scar on his head and wondered how life would have ended up had Potter accepted his offer. Would he have been able to defy his father, fight against the Dark Lord? Would he have been able to stand next to Granger?

The world he imagined was impossible. His fate had been written in the stars from birth.

Voldemort gave a manic smile

"Harry Potter...is dead!"

Bellatrix howled with laughter, and the other death eaters gave warped giggles.

Draco stood off to the side. The people he hated surrounded him, the ginger Weasleys like a contagious rash, dotting the crowd. He stood close to the mudblood, closer than he had ever been before without her trying to get away.

"And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us..._ or die_." Voldemort shouted to the crowd.

No one moved. Not even him.

"Draco," his father whispered.

_Fucking no_. No way was he going near the lunatic. He attempted to control his reactions.

"Draco," his mother said softer, "Come."

Well, fuck. What else could he do?

Draco's hands shook. All he wanted was to go back to the manor and slide into the safety of his silk bed sheets, for his mother to come and wake him up and tell him it had all been a nightmare. No, he hadn't seen one of his best friends die in fiendfyre. No, he hadn't seen his school destroyed. And no, he hadn't seen a professor get swallowed by a fucking snake in his dining room.

However, he also wanted to live. Go ahead, call him a coward. He hated the word, but he agreed with the charge. Though he liked to be positive and call it adaption.

Draco walked towards evil. Each step damned him, but there was no turning back. The light wasn't his to grasp. It never had been.

Voldemort's hands slid around him as he stiffened, welcoming him back into the fold of Death Eaters.

Voldemort released him, and Draco held in a shiver. _Get your slimy dead fingers off me_, he wanted to shout. Instead he quickly walked towards his parents.

It was all lost. The light despaired. The dark celebrated.

Well, if this is what it must be, at least he was on the winning side.

Draco couldn't help it. His eyes went back to the crowd he just left, populated by people that he thought he hated. Weasel shook with anger, his face a putrid color matching his hair, ugly pink blotches down his neck. Granger had tears streaking down her golden face. He wondered how they would taste—her tears. Like stardust, he imagined, something not from his world.

Just give up, he begged them. The thought of more bloodshed made him ill. For once in her life, Granger should forsake her useless Gryffindor courage.

After a long pause, Longbottom stepped forward, and Draco exhaled.

"Well, I must say, I'd hoped for better," Voldemort jeered. The rest of the crowd joined him.

It would be okay. When one person gave up, especially someone like Longbottom, the rest would follow. Voldemort may have won, but Draco didn't have to see anyone else die. He could return to the manor and forget everything. Voldemort would get what he wanted and stop killing people to get it. It was a delusional thought, but powerful.

In the few moments as Longbottom walked forward while the Death Eaters heckled him, Draco held onto a fragile hope. But Bumble-fuck just had to open his useless mouth and had the burning sorting hat placed on his head.

And then everything went to shit. The most useless wizard in history of mankind pulled the Gryffindor sword out of nowhere and killed Nagini.

The end began with sparks of red, yellow, and green.

**Draco**

**Present Day **

Draco awoke with a noise. He tried to open his eyes, but a brilliant flash of light blinded him.

"Bloody hell, turn down the light." At his cursing, whoever had opened the door, closed it behind them with a click. The person carried a torch. The beam wiggled around the room, touching everything except his cell.

As the figure got closer, he knew who it was before he even made out the curves, the frizz ball hair. He'd know her just by the tapping of her shoes on tile. It made his heart beat with the timing.

Damn it all. Could he never get away from her? All she ever did was torment him.

She came closer and leaned down, unlatching the small door towards the floor too small for anybody to fit through. Metal scratched against tile as a tray was pushed through.

"Stay where you are," she warned, though it wasn't necessary. In the first week in the cell, he had lunged for the opening and grabbed her hand, warm and soft, so hard he thought it might have broken a bone.

"Let me out," he had tried to threaten, tugging her arm into the opening at an odd angle. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't noticed the Gryffindor twat, Finnegan, behind her. He struck Draco with a stun so powerful he lost his breath. He fell forward, his mouth grazing her skin as it slid out of his grasp. For a week, he had an ache in his side.

Draco learned two things that day: Grangers skin still tasted like honeyed salt and the fact he couldn't escape.

So, no, he was staying where he was. Besides, where he was sitting gave him a great vantage point to see down her shirt. The tops of her breasts looked like half-moons, pushed up by a muggle bra. He felt like he was at Hogwarts again, trying to get a view without anyone noticing. It was a dangerous game he played.

After shifting the food all the way in, Hermione's hand darted out only to return with a jug of water and a glass. She used magic to shrink it to fit under the door, and then unshrink once it was inside.

"Enjoy," she said and stood.

Draco didn't move towards the food. He lost the sensation of hunger long ago. Instead he closed his eyes and tilted his head against the wall. After a moment, he opened them, noticing Granger's feet didn't move away.

"What do you want?" He rolled his head to the side to stare at her, not have energy for much else. His voice croaked out the words.

She hesitated and shifted from side to side. He knew what she was about to say.

"You need to eat."

"So saint Granger has regrown her conscious?"

She winced.

"I never lost it."

"The Granger I knew would have never left a prisoner in solitary confinement for a week with the lights off."

She winced again. He plucked at her heartstrings, since they were easy to find.

"I don't like doing this to you. If you just—besides, you don't know me enough—"

"Don't lie. You enjoy this. You can't get revenge on the Dark Lord for Weasel and Potty, so I'm the best you've got. After all, Death Eaters deserve it, and so do I, right?"

Granger bit her lip, a nervous habit she had. He had always been a quick study, and Granger was his favorite subject. He wondered if she even understood the fraction of the amount of time he spent staring at her in the past.

She walked back to the glass wall and leaned on the back of her thighs, her bum resting on her sensible trainers. She wore a green jumper, looking like a Slytherin. Seeing her in green always made his stomach tighten. One hand came up and rested on the glass.

"You _need _to eat," she said as if she cared.

"Insanity stole my appetite."

"You're not insane."

He snorted and glanced up at the ceiling.

"Debatable."

No, he wasn't. Not yet. In the darkness, he offered himself up to insanity, but the muses must have decided he still needed a few good doses of torture before they took his wits. They needed to keep the balance of the universe.

Granger went back to biting her lips, and her eyes went vacant staring at an empty section of the wall—her thinking stance. It was her most common expression, one he knew even before he started noticing her. He had started to name her faces. This one was called I'm-not-on-Earth- Right-Now. After a few moments of thought, her face transformed into the I'm-trying-to-Help-You-So-Don't-Resist smile. It was a mixture between pity and self-righteousness, and the least likeable of them all. It was the exact reason no one except Potter and Weasel could stand to be around her for years.

_Fuck no_, he thought even before she could speak. He still had his sanity, which meant he still had his pride, no matter how threadbare. He wouldn't be her new SPEW, her new charity case.

"I'll make you a deal."

Every few weeks she did this—tried to transform, him, change him, save him. "You have some good in you, I just know it." She said to him the first week. "Dumbledore thought so, and I do too."

Trusting Dumbledore was her first mistake. Potter trusted the old codger. It only led him to the bloody end of the Dark Lord's wand.

Besides, he disagreed with her. Whatever good in him died a long time ago. He wanted to tell her all the dark things he fantasized about just to shock her, shake the confidence from her pert smile.

"Get on with it," he urged, already tired of her new ploy. "What will it be this time?"

She already tried something she called "therapy". That was a disaster. And then she had tried to give him a lecture on DBA-or was it DNA? She had talked too fast, and he had ignored her. And then she started to get angry, and he matched the fury. All in all, it made his time in the cell even more unpleasant than it had to be.

"Books," she said brightly, as if struck by inspiration. "You'll read a few books I give you, and after we'll talk about them."

Draco raised one eyebrow.

"Books?" He managed to sound condescending. "I'm _so_ surprised."

Hermione bristled, "Yes, _books_. I'm trying to make a point, and it's obvious you don't want to hear it from me, so I've decided to try another route."

"What will I get in return?"

She seemed to still at that, as if she hadn't already thought of it.

"What do you want?"

That was a good question: what did he want besides escape? He looked Granger up and down and gave her his best Slytherin smirk. His I'm-up-to-no-good expression. He wore it often enough for it to become redundant, almost as much as he wore his I'm Richer-Smarter-and-Better-Looking- Than- You- Ever- Could- be sneer.

He stood up, ignoring the groans of his body. A shot of adrenaline raced through his body. He shucked his shirt, peeling it off him.

"What are you doing?" Granger said in panic. It was so easy to rile her up, let her jitters ride her knickers into a twist.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He pushed down his pants and stepped out of them, stark naked. "I'm taking a shower."

Hermione gasped but didn't look away. The torch light trembled in the cell. If it wasn't so dark, he was sure her cheeks would be bright red, which only increased his smirk. It had been awhile since he messed with her. This was something he had never done, but now he wished he had done it sooner, if only to see her incapacitated. He grabbed his cock just for fun, giving himself a few solid wanks, and Granger granted him with an outraged huff.

"What? Haven't fucked since Hogwarts?" A large part of him hoped she hadn't. "Is that why you started to become a voyeur? Couldn't get any on your own, so you decided to capture the best and put it on display."

She was confused until he motioned to the solid glass wall, the only thing protecting her from him.

"I—it's for safety reasons and—well, it's not any of your business, and no, I'm not a voyeur. You're the last person that— "

"Don't get so worked up, Granger," he stopped her before she could finish that thought. "It's just flesh." He went over to the shower and turned on the faucet. The copper pipes wiggled with the force, until a blast of cold sputtered out. He shivered but refused to get out of the spray's way. The fucking light side couldn't even give him the decency of hot water. He ran both his hands through his hair, leaning his face up.

"Why—you," she continued to bluster as the water ran down his skin. He had never been one to be self-conscious. He had no need to be. "You're just a fiend, Malfoy. A disgusting fiend. Here I am trying my hardest to— and you just—ugh!" He heard her twist and march towards the door. The light of the torch she carried darted around the cell again. Even if she looked over, without the torch light she wouldn't be able to see him.

With the looming darkness, his stunt was no longer fun.

"I'll read them," he said before she could exit. "But I want light and some privacy."

"Anything else?" She refused to turn around.

"Yeah, I want my fucking bed back."

Her hand was on the door, and she opened it, sending the blinding light through.

She sighed and let her head fall a little limp, as if their conversation took everything out of her.

"You'll have it all by tomorrow. But Draco…" She turned her head to the side and stared straight at him with a sad look. He startled a bit at the use of his given name. "Please try this time. I just— I'm not sure how long I can convince them to continue to keep you here."

By here, she meant alive. Death eaters were usually killed on the spot. Granger convinced the resistance to give him an exception, though he didn't realize he had an expiration date. He felt the impact of the sentence like a bludger to the chest.

She walked out and shut the door leaving him to the dark, to his demons, and to the memories. After only a few minutes, he turned off the shower and sat down, blindly searching for a towel. He found it beside the sink and patted himself down. It wasn't cold, so he didn't bother getting dressed.

After only a few moments, he felt the jitters creep back up on him, the waves that wanted to pull him under.

Come on and do it, he dared them. He almost wanted to lose his wits. It would be better than the boredom or the waiting, he was sure of it.

"Sanity is a right bitch," he told the darkness.

A/N: The final battle memory is a condensed version of book and movie elements, but it leans more towards the movie because that hug between Draco and Voldemort was so awkwardly fantastic.


	3. The Final Battle

**Song Suggestion:** Maroon 5- "Animals"

**WARNING:** Dubious consent in this chapter. Draco is naughty.

**The Final Battle**

**Draco **

Blood was everywhere. Flying. Splattering. It made patterns against the wall as Draco tried to avoid it all. He dodged and ducked, narrowly missing the rapid fires from both sides. He had been situated in the crosshairs and lost his parents in the fray. The giants bellowed and smashed the buildings, flinging people away with a swoop of their arms.

During the panic, he made a complete circle, ending up in the same spot Voldemort addressed the crowd. Fewer people were there now that most of them had made their way into the interior of the castle.

"Mother," he called out, "Fath—"

He tripped over a body and fell flat.

He scrambled to his feet and brushed his clothes off, looked down at the body, and froze.

Harry Potter.

If he'd been alive, he'd gloat at the boy's defeat. Now that he was dead, Draco was disappointed. During the midst of the battle, the corpse of the-boy-who-died had been forgotten. No doubt they would mutilate it later, but for now he looked peaceful, if not a bit gray.

"Thanks," he whispered, "For saving me." He'd have never said that to him if Potter managed to stay alive, but now... he owed him something. Without him, he'd have died in Fiendfyre, an unfitting end to his life.

A piece of wood stuck out from one of Potter's pocket—His wand!—and with deft fingers, Draco plucked it out. He sighed as the familiar energy flowed through him, like a lost limb reconnected. Holding the magical instrument between his fingers he found a semblance of courage returning. At least now he could protect himself.

He was about to walk away when he noticed a cloak lying next to the dead body. Picking it up, he marveled at the rich cloth, recognizing Potter's invisibility cloak. How in the Hell did Potter have one of those, anyway? Last time he checked, Potter had almost been as poor as Weasley, and invisibility cloaks cost an absolute fortune. He didn't even have one, and he had more money than God.

Everything made sense when he discovered its existence. Holding it up to inspect it more, he glared at it. The cloak would come in handy. He pulled it over his shoulders, making his lower half vanish. With a flick of his wrists, the hood came up and hid the rest of him.

_Fucking wicked!_ Draco searched the rest of his pockets. He found nothing but a small rock shaped like a pyramid. He almost tossed it but took a second look. It had a cracked center with a symbol he couldn't see in the darkness. Potter stashed it for a reason; it might be important, however doubtful. He tucked it into his pockets.

Now what?

He wasn't sure where to go. He could escape, but Voldemort would win this battle. He should join the fight, but the thought made his stomach turn.

However, he realized, he'd be hidden under the cloak. No one would know where to shoot a curse, and if he brought down a few people maybe he wouldn't be labeled a coward.

With his mind made up, he set off for the Great Hall.

**Draco **

The Great Hall was ground zero for the war. Bodies slumped in random places, while the living viciously fought. As time went on the curses became more intense, the tricks became dirtier.

Malfoy stared at the scene with detachment. As he stepped over the corpses of his professors and peers, he was surprised the bile didn't threaten to rise from his stomach. With every dead body he saw, the night leaned more towards fantasy then reality, relieving him of his disgust.

Someone bumped into him from behind, and he nearly lost his footing and his cloak. He gripped the cloth that preserved him from harm even tighter.

Seamus Finnegan looked around confused. Draco lifted his wand and stunned him. The curse hit him square in the chest, and Seamus fell flat on his back.

Draco still couldn't make himself kill, as much as he wanted to prove himself.

He did this to several people, including Hannah Abbot, one of the Weasley twins, and Luna Lovegood. A few more people he didn't know received his stupefy, some of them looking way too young to have been allowed to fight.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of brown whizzed by, curly hair bouncing as it went.

With curiosity, he watched as the mudblood sprinted out of the Great Hall. A lone Death Eater followed her, shooting jets of red light that barely missed each time.

Draco followed her.

**Draco**

Draco jumped over a body on the ground. With surprise, he recognized Corban Yaxley, the Death Eater that followed Granger out of the Great Hall. The mask was shattered and blood dripped from his mouth and blank eyes stared ahead. Granger killed him, and the fact shocked him, shaking his confidence in the balance of the universe. How was it saintly Granger had been capable of murder, when Evil Malfoy was sickened by thought? Granted this was in self-defense, but it opened his eyes to what the mudblood was capable of.

It brought a new thought to his head: would she kill him if given a chance? This made him frown, but it didn't stop him following her.

His footsteps continued down the hall. Just ahead of him, there was a flash of brown curly hair. He tried to step softly so she wouldn't hear him. She made an abrupt turn, robes billowing with the air current.

He almost snorted at the room she went into. Only Granger would go to the library during a bloody war.

He turned into the entrance to the deserted library and found her throwing a stack of books into a small beaded purse around her neck. The purse never grew larger, so he deduced she charmed it to be bottomless. Clever Granger—her wit had always impressed him, though her wit had also made him maddened, especially when it was against him. He held true to the belief that without Granger the Dark Lord would have won a long time ago.

She threw books into her bag at a fast pace, emptying shelves as she went. She went to the restricted section, doing intricate wand work to break the strained wards down. It didn't take much effort, since they held on by a thread of old magic, but he was still impressed.

He studied her face—her pretty face. Yes, she was a mudblood, but she was a beautiful mudblood. This fact kept him conflicted throughout his time at Hogwarts. Even now he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming her face and her figure. The blood running through her veins stank of filth, but that didn't stop the desire making him see double.

The first time he noticed the Mudblood for being attractive was in fourth year at the Yule ball like every bloke in their school. However, even though that night shook him, it wasn't the killing blow.

The real moment was during the summer before sixth year, before the whole mess with killing Dumbledore started. It was his birthday, and Theo Nott had the insane suggestion to give the girls with them Polyjuice to turn into girls from other houses. From there it evolved into figuring what they hid under their robes. Draco thought he was just joking. So far, his birthday had been a bust, and he was irritated with everyone. Sure, every well-bred pureblood had a substantial stock of Polyjuice on hand, but...

"Where in the bloody hell are we going to find the hairs?" Draco had asked with annoyance.

Theo just took out handkerchief from his pocket and unrolled it, bringing out several. "I thought ahead."

That caught Draco's attention.

"Whose are those?"

Theo picked out a long blond strand.

"Luna Lovegood."

The crowd roared with laughter.

"The Looney Bin? Who'd want to see _that_ naked?" Draco asked.

"I would," Greg said. To his surprise many others agreed with a nod of their heads. Draco had to admit, he was a little curious to see what the loon hid under her clothes.

It took a bit of convincing to get the girls to go along with it. Pansy, especially, hissed her disapproval, crossing her arms.

"I'm not getting naked, Polyjuice or no?"

"Aw, come on, don't ruin the fun," Theo said. "You can keep your knickers on in case the potion wears off."

Nobody relented until Draco and Blaise promised to buy them all some jewelry in Hogsmeade next time they went. Pretty baubles could always be relied upon to crack their defenses.

They gave a fifth year Slytherin named Julie the potion and placed the blonde hair in it. The girl grimaced at the potion before downing it. The effects occurred immediately. The breasts shrunk a bit as did the legs, but the arse filled out nicely. She stripped out of her clothes, leaving her knickers and pale as moon skin.

"Not bad," Draco said, and the crowd hooted as the Luna look-alike tried to give a seductive stare though her normally glassy eyes. Not his type, but Greg looked like he was about to swoon. Poor bloke was still a virgin.

"If you think that was great, it just gets better." He held up an assortment, and Draco was impressed by his ability to obtain them. Lavender Brown, whose_ assets_ weren't much of a mystery to the assembled crowd; Susan Bones, who ended up a disappointment; the Patil twins, which was interesting just to note the differences. They found Padma had bigger tits than her twin.

"Ginny Weasley," Theo said with a twinkle in his eye.

Most of the crowd perked up at the name. Though he didn't see the appeal, many others found her attractive.

Draco grabbed the fiery stand and threw it at Blaise with a wink.

"Here, I know you have a thing for redheads. Consider it an early birthday present."

Blaise gave him a playful salute. The room grumbled but silenced when Draco threatened to kick out the next person to complain. Nobody wanted to miss the rest of the show.

They went through a few others: Hanna Abbot, Katie Bell, Romilda Vane, Cho Chang. Each met with cheers or taunts. It ceased to be a thing of potential cruelty; he knew that with the hunger in the eyes around him.

It was the last name which drew everybody's attention, even his.

"Hermione Granger." Theo held up an auburn strand which bounced into a curl in the light. Something began to singe under his skin at her name, a heady feeling, as if his blood came alive.

This toed the line into dangerous territory. She wasn't just any girl; she was a mudblood. And not just any mudblood, but _The _Mudblood, and not somebody to wank off to. But they vowed never to speak of it after that night. Besides, this opportunity was too golden to pass up. She most likely had some ugly birth defect or something to get a good laugh at.

Pansy relented and grabbed the potion.

"Well, let's see what the swot is hiding," she said and downed it, stripping her clothes.

She shrunk down, much shorted than Pansy. The skin and hair turned bronze, and the hair elongated. Her breasts grew softer, more natural, pushing over the top of the bra. The curves of the waist and hips rounded. He was used to women being tall and slender, cold and austere. But she was the opposite, soft in the places that mattered, and he had a strange impulse to reach out and dig his fingers in.

Granger had a scar on her stomach that resembled starburst, but it didn't detract from her beauty. On the contrary, it added to her appeal in a way he didn't expect. Like a picture that became more intriguing when taken off-center.

The Hermione clone adjusted the bottom of the bra, getting a nice view of her cleavage. The pink lips frowned, and her hair once thought an abomination looked incredibly enticing, all wild and tangled, something to dip your hands into and tug.

"Holy shit," Theo said, "Granger's fucking fit."

He somehow knew she would be, because she was best friends with Harry Potter, and life always gave that git everything Draco wanted.

Draco's mouth went dry as he watched Pansy in Granger's body do a little twist to get a complete view, and he suddenly felt incredibly greedy. He didn't care what his mates thought. He stood up and grabbed Pansy's arm.

The boys groaned.

"Stealing the fun from the rest of us?" Nott eyes raked across Granger's body in a way Draco suddenly found intolerable.

"It's my birthday, and my Polyjuice potion. I can do what the fuck I want." Malfoy just sneered. "And if any of you wankers breath a word of this, I'll Avada the lot of you."

"Drakey?" Pansy asked, Hermione's bow lips pouting in confusion. A look that didn't fit Granger.

"Go to my study."

As usual, she didn't protest. He walked behind her as she climbed the stairs, and when he entered the room, he sat in a leather chair in front of a fire. Pansy had her arms on her hips with a seductive smirk. No matter how much she looked like Granger, movements like this gave it away.

"I'm not sure what you're wanting," Pansy pouted, "She's a filthy mud—"

"Don't you dare tell anybody about this either."

Pansy nodded like an obedient dog.

"If you play along, I'll buy you anything you want. I don't fucking care."

Pansy bit her lip.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Kneel."

She did as he asked. He unzipped his pants, and by this she understood and crawled forward.

"Diamonds. I want diamonds."

"Okay, fine, as long as you quit talking. You don't sound like her, and it's distracting me."

She went to work, relieving his pressure. He was rougher than usual, a fire under his skin he had never felt before. He watched as his cock slid between her rose lips, trying to forget it was Pansy staring up at him adoringly with Granger's doe eyes, and he climaxed with the best orgasm he ever had. He called out Granger's name as he came. After he was through, he untangled his fingers from her mass of curls.

"Remember, this is nothing," he told Pansy.

She nodded but he could tell she didn't believe him.

Since that night, Draco had been unable to shake the images, unable to sleep without seeing her curves or her lips, and unable to taste her, really taste her. The last one really got to him because there was nothing that could be done about his frustration.

He'd see her in class and imagine her naked, wait until she bent over and watched as the skirt trailed up her thighs. She'd stick a quill in her mouth in thought, nibbling on the end, nearly sending him to wank in class once. And the thing was, she never noticed the stares or what she did to him.

He hated her for that. Absolutely _hated_ her for that. How dare she not even look at him, the prince of this world, and her just a filthy creature, when he struggled with his lust enough to make a wizard go mad?

It had always infuriated him the one woman he desired was the one woman he couldn't have. Maybe that was the reason he desired her, especially since he was not used to denying himself anything. How could the world make such offensive blood, offensive magic, and place it into a body which made him want to get on his knees to beg her for a simple touch?

He had tried on several occasions to purge his mind from her, but every waking and dreaming moment his mind had lingered on her soft curls and smooth skin. He would pay a high price to fuck her just once and planned to catch her in a dark hallway and shag her senseless. But her two dumb body guards were always around, and he had never had the courage to make a move.

Draco watched her furiously packing away the Hogwarts library for a moment and walked closer to her body, close enough if he reached out, he'd be able to feel the coarse fabric of her red cloak. Draco Malfoy was done with being denied what he wanted. So what? He was spoiled bastard, and he didn't give a fuck.

He pulled the smooth wood of his wand and placed the tip gently against the creamy skin of her throat.

She emitted a small gasp, turning and placing her back against the bookcase. Her eyes widened with fear as she took in the disembodied hand and wand.

"Who are you?"

He tugged on the end of the cloak, pulling it free from his body. It slipped from his frame to pool on the floor by his feet.

"Hello, Granger."

"Malfoy", she spat back and looked down at his feet. "How did you get Harry's cloak?" Her voice shook with grief.

"The same way I got my wand back." He pressed the wand to her throat harder. She was powerless in this position, and she knew it.

He reached down and pulled her wand from her hand before she did something stupid with it, with some effort, for she was grasping it tightly. He put the wand in his pocket.

"You won't need that."

She looked frightened for a moment, before visibly relaxing, then smiling.

"You won't be able to do it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" His voice went low and dangerous. He stepped forward and bent his head down, so close their noses almost touched and warm breath puffed against his face. She smelled so sweet, it was intoxicating.

Her face was even better close. Her skin, smooth and unblemished, her lips opened slightly, her long eyelashes framing her doe eyes. Her chest heaved, giving away her anxiety.

"You won't be able to kill me… you're a coward."

Coward: he hated that word. That did not define him, not anymore.

"Who said I wanted to kill you?" His free hand pressed into her hips.

"Then what do you want?" She stared at him with her head tilted, trying to discern something.

After a moment, she gasped in understanding. The little noise was his undoing.

His lips crashed into hers, and he moaned into her mouth. She was just a soft as he imagined she would be. It felt like a bolt of electricity went through him. His tongue slid across her lips, asking for entrance.

"Kiss me back", he begged against her mouth. "Escape with me."

Hermione eyes narrowed, and eyebrows scrunched into an adorable pout. He's seen this look before on many occasions as she sat and absorbed a lesson or was immersed in a book. She seemed to be considering.

Her lips went from firm to pliable, and with shock he realized she was kissing him back, opening her mouth a little to let their tongues touch. She mewled like a kitten with the contact, the sound zipping to his cock. A low groan escaped Draco. Victory, complete and utter victory—a feeling he rarely experienced.

He brought his lips back to hers, and they locked as if starved. His hands let go of her arms and grasped her neck, cradling her jaw, the skin like silk beneath his fingers. He dipped his head to taste her skin.

Loosening his grip was a mistake. She tugged away, and he grabbed for her, but before he could, she raised a little cylindrical object. A stream of liquid exited and struck him in the face. Instant pain. Both hands clawed at his eyes. It felt as if his eyeball would sizzle out of his skull. He lost his balance and fell backward, withering in agony on the ground.

She bent down quickly and grabbed her wand from his pocket and brought it up. The tip pressed on his temple. Fear, as strong as his pain, burst through him.

"Wh-what did you do?" he managed to sputter out. Tears streamed down his face and he continued to swipe, through the rest of his body managed to remain still with the threat of Granger's wand pointed at him.

"This is a beautiful muggle invention called pepper spray, made especially for arseholes like you."

He gasped as wave after wave of pain hit him. It made his stomach hurt, and he resisted the need to vomit. What torture device was this that the muggles created?

"Why," he wheezed out, though the answer was obvious.

"You will not touch me again. You hear me, you loathsome little ferret? I should kill you."

Despite himself, he remembered the dead man out in the hall. A touch of fear tinged his consciousness.

She kicked him in the side for good measure, her nostrils flaring in anger. She raised her wand, her hands shaking, and muttered a spell. His legs and arms locked to his side.

"If ever in our future we meet again, and you continue to be an insufferable prat, I will not be so kind."

He grimaced, not able to imagine a worse pain.

She turned to leave, but then twisted right back around again, picking up something. A rustle of cloth.

The invisibility cloak.

"You won't need this," she said copying his words from earlier.

She grabbed a few more books, slamming them down into her purse, before turning and leaving.

He assumed she didn't even look back.

**A/N:** I always wondered why Polyjuice potion wasn't illegal in the wizarding world. Because if it was real, there'd be shit like this going on, along with more nefarious things.


	4. Several Filthy Shades of Gray

**Song suggestion: **NF- "Outcast"

**A/N:** There will be multiple POVS. I promise Hermione's will come into play soon. As well as others.

**Several Filthy Shades of Gray**

**Present Day **

**Draco **

Draco was staring at the ceiling when Hermione plopped down a stack of thick books outside his cell.

Draco tilted his head without getting up. After a moment, he smiled. "Leave it to Granger to bring a fucking library when she said _books_."

"I'm choosing to ignore you."

"Please, as much as you hate me," he sat up and swung his legs off the cot, "you have never been able to ignore me."

She pressed her lips tight. They turned white.

"This is serious, Draco. I don't know how much— "

"Just slide me a book. I'm so bored I could read The Quibbler and believe every word."

She bent down. Her shirt didn't gape open this time, and he was disappointed. After choosing a book in the stack—a small-spine one—she opened the latch and slid it through. He got up and walked over and picked it up to read the cover.

"Night by Elie Wiesel?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "A muggle book?"

Hermione nodded, lifting her chin in the air. She did that when confronted with her heritage, ready to defend it.

"The muggles have similar problems to us. I hope you find it eye-opening."

Draco scoffed. "Muggles are just primitive forms of humans whose mixture of blood has diluted anything of worthwhile value. Muggleborns are more worthwhile than muggles, and that is saying something. I doubt they can spit out anything meaningful."

Granger's jaw clenched. She was trying too fucking hard to be nice with him. He wished to crack her shell and make her rage.

"They believe in blood purity too," she said softly. "And they have waged war for it as well. The wizarding World is neither original nor a different species. As you will see, the same stories have been played out for generations."

"Then who is right? If it has gone on for so long, there must be an answer."

Hermione sighed. "That is the question I want you to answer."

They were silent for a long while. Draco went back to his cot and sat down, slumping his shoulders.

"You do know I will never tell you anything? Even if I knew something important."

"Why would—" Hermione deliberately stopped herself and then started again. "Never say never. Maybe you'll feel more sympathetic after reading—"

"I'll humor you and read these, but I don't want to hear your prattle."

"You should take—"

"He'd kill my mother, Granger." He had never told her this before, but it was true. Draco wasn't even sure why he was telling her this now, but he felt the need for her to understand his situation. He was a coward, true, but he was an adapter. He would have broken long ago if not for one reason: preserving his mother's life and possibly his father's too.

Draco cracked the book open and lay back down.

"If I switched sides, and she lost her life, who would be right then?"

Granger didn't answer.

It was time she learned some brutal lessons: the world was several filthy shades of gray, and she couldn't save everyone.

**Draco**

**Present Day**

He read the book hard and fast, finishing it twice within the span of a day. A riveting read, he must say. And disturbing. Though it didn't change his opinions on muggles. Instead, it reinforced them.

Though the similarities to the mudblood camps were close enough to the concentration camps it made everything inside him squirm. He hated admitting Granger had a point.

Draco's thoughts were interrupted by a small crowd of people walking into the room. Draco rolled his eyes at the scientists. They used the room as something similar to a potions room, mixing and dripping in different ingredients. Several glass jars in various sizes lined the shelves with a variety of colors. But everything else was cold white and shiny metal.

"Confundo," he said out loud, bringing his hands up and concentrating.

Over the past three months, Draco used the time the scientists were in the room as time to work on wandless magic. It had a twofold effect—it helped keep the magic in him in shape, like exercising does to the body, and it scared the shit out of the muggles. At the beginning, they would jump with the slightest words, as if he could call down evil upon them. And he could, if he wanted. Two words—Lord Voldemort—and they'd meet with a blast of deadly green light. However, he would probably die as well. The Dark Lord didn't take kindly to prisoners of war. He saw them as failures. And if there was anything you didn't want to be around The Dark Lord, it was a failure.

"Incarcerous!"

"Can we make him shut up today? I need to concentrate." This was said by a lady with mousy black hair, that reminded him of a female Snape, same mannerisms and all.

A large man looked up at him, one of the leaders of the ragtag group, named Terrence. An American with dark skin and built like a boulder. He wasn't a scientist, but he liked to be in the room with Malfoy sometimes to torment him. The other scientists didn't like him there, but he was too powerful a man, both in stature and influence, to exclude. His grandfather was one of the most powerful wizards in America. Rumor has it, even more powerful than Voldemort himself. The only thing Terrence inherited from his renowned grandfather was an inflated ego.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I would love nothing more than to torture you. Hermione is too kind for her own good. One fuck up, man, just one, and I'll take a shit on your world for free."

Did he mention they shared a past? Draco used to be his jailer a few years before when fighting was at its fiercest, and American volunteers came to lend their wand. The bloke got himself caught before even being able to fire a single curse. How times changed. Draco refused to see the irony.

Stupid Americans, always sticking their nose where it shouldn't be, especially when they had revenge on their minds.

"Levicorpus." He aimed it at Terrence. It was worth a shot.

"You know what this is, fucker?" Terrence motioned to a freezer filled with vials, pointing to a few in particular. "Have you ever heard of Ebola?"

"Petrificus Totalus."

"It's a biological weapon. A virus we're tampering with, attempting to make it powerful enough to get past your magical wards and easy enough to control. It's last resort, for sure. But I'm willing to risk testing it out on you to see if it works. It's a gruesome way to die, puking and shitting yourself until your body has nothing left."

"Reducto," Draco said a little louder to piss off the fucker. It was just too easy sometimes.

"Not to mention the experiments with Ionizing radiation. With magic, we may be able to turn it into a more individualized weapon. But you don't even know what that is, do you?" He gave a half-smirk, enjoying knowing something Draco didn't. "At high enough doses, It'll melt the skin from your bones. If you don't die right away, it'll kill you within weeks."

"Sectumsempra."

"Selective hearing would be dangerous on your part."

Merlin, he wanted to hurt him.

"Crucio." He meant the unforgiveable too.

Terrence pulled a wand out of the back pocket of his muggle jeans. He glanced at it for a second before putting it back in his pocket. He replaced it with a gun and pointed the shiny barrel at the glass.

Draco knew full well what it would do. He'd seen them execute a prisoner once. Terrence had dragged him to view it and forced him to watch the full thing. He remembered being surprised at the sudden, explosive power and at how brain matter looked on a tile floor.

"One more word," Terrence said. The scientists in the background buzzed around like little honey bees trying to do their work despite the danger in their midst.

Terrence's threat didn't scare him. The man had a hard-on for the Gryffindor princess and wouldn't do anything to upset her. Draco had nothing to fear as long as he was Granger's pet project.

Draco put his fingers against the glass and concentrated as hard as he could. The anger built inside him, building and building until he felt the magic swarming through his veins.

"Confringo!"

A glass vial in a woman's hands burst into flames. The fire spewed all the way to the ceiling with a bang and green liquid splattered over the area.

The room became the center of a storm for a fraction of a moment, so quiet he could hear the air whooshing through the vents, and then a sudden burst of chaos.

The woman screamed. Several men standing by grabbed her by the arms and rushed her to a washing station, vigorously scrubbing the material.

Terrence rushed to the woman first and then the broken glass. He studied the area of the crime. But there was nothing that could have caused a fire. Which left one option…

Terrence stopped searching and looked at Draco, who still stood with his fingers resting against the glass and his mouth open in a state of shock.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"I... I don't know."

But he did know.

Wandless magic. The first successful attempt in his life.

One of the scientists pushed the alarm button and what little calm was attained was lost again. Important men in smart-dressed suits came through, buzzing around the people. What he did was a game changer. He was no longer a small-time prisoner. Draco knew his time in the cell was running to a close. They would move him to a new cell for dangerous criminals and be promptly executed.

Through the chaos, Draco stayed in the same position while life rushed around him. He was no longer amazed about his new-found uncontrollable abilities, for something interesting caught his attention.

On the ceiling, one of the tiles above the errant confrigo had moved by just a fraction. It was a miniscule amount, but he had stared at the ceiling in his own cell long enough to understand it was out of place.

This thought struck him hard: the ceiling tiles are not permanent.


	5. Reward and Punishment

**Song Suggestion: **The Weeknd- "False Alarm" Watch the video! It's better than most movies.

**Reward and Punishment**

**The Final Battle **

**Draco **

The Dark Lord triumphed. Hogwarts put up a fierce fight, but it didn't matter in the end.

There was great revelry as Death Eaters threw bodies onto a pyre and lit it on fire. They danced in the flickering light, drinking firewhisky, and breathing in the smoke of the dead.

Draco watched this with a forced smile on his face.

There was a small group of survivors in the center of the revelry. He assumed there were more pockets located around the grounds, but this one was comprised of only students. The frightened people huddled together for protection and comfort. They had lost everything: their friends, their family, their cause, and their freedom. Their lives now rested on the whims of their enemies.

A few of the people he stunned were still alive, and Draco didn't know how to feel about that, especially since he couldn't take credit for it. He saw three shocks of red hair and noticed the surviving Weasley twin and the Weaslette. But what surprised him most was that _the_ Weasel, Ron, was still alive. His head hung low with defeat, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. Draco thought the Weasel would have been one of the first ones to die. The Dark Lord probably kept him just to be made an example of.

Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood survived as well. Tears streamed down their faces as the clutched each other tight. The rest of the survivors were people he either didn't know or didn't care to remember. There were only about twelve of them that he could see.

There was a trend to survivors: most of them were girls, and from what he could see, pureblooded. He wasn't sure what that entailed but held a strong suspicion.

Granger was not among them, and he was relieved for that.

"Draco," a sweet feminine voice called out.

He turned to face his mother. She hadn't fought in the actual battle, so her hair stayed perfectly in place and her dress robes were impeccable. Draco let a moment of guilt wash over him. She must have been worried about him, especially since he'd been absent for most of the battle.

"Oh, Draco," she cooed and embraced him. Her body trembled. Draco let it comfort him before pushing her away. He couldn't be seen showing love or weakness, not even to his mother. "I was so worried", her whisper was strained, "I thought you were…"

Narcissa didn't finish the sentence as if afraid of the words. Her bright blue eyes glistened.

"I'm not." It came out harsher than he intended. He hoped she understood it was for the company around them.

She gave a curt nod and pulled away from him.

"I must go tell your father you're safe."

She gave his hand a tight squeeze before heading back into the crowd. Draco sighed as she went. After seeing her, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Maybe now the war had ended things would go back to how they used to be.

He stared back into the flames of the bonfire. The bodies beneath crackled; skin blackened and shriveled into ash. The smell gave him a headache and left a foul taste to his mouth. The charred skin of Order should have revolted him, but with all that happened today, he was beginning to feel immune.

The entrance to Hogwarts slammed open, making Draco jump in surprise, and the Dark Lord stepped out with the body of McGonagall floating behind him. From this viewpoint, he couldn't tell if she was alive or dead. A mighty cheer went up from the crowd, and the Death Eaters raised their bottles of firewhisky, drunk off victory.

The Dark Lord gave a smile—a full blown, happy smile. Every hair on Draco's body to stood up in alarm. He had never seen something more surreal. It only portended more wicked things to come.

The Dark Lord proceeded to give a speech, talking about the continuing muggle threat. The battle was over, but the war was far from done. He planned to start an extermination of muggle England, warning this practice may incite another war with neighboring countries. But he told them with the combined power of all the purebloods, they would vanquish anyone who opposed them. The crowd cheered and howled like wolves. The eyes surrounding him were inebriated off bloodlust.

Draco wanted to sneer at the thought of more war. The fools around him craved death, but he couldn't see the appeal.

The crimson eyes flashed their approval and roamed the crowd; Draco looked down to avoid his gaze. The Malfoys weren't the favorite of the Dark Lord anymore, and with a possible new war coming up he would be expected to fill his father's shoes—shoes that now seemed a couple sizes too large.

The Dark Lord continued his speech for a few minutes. Draco zoned out of it, numb from the day, until the topic changed to the valor of the battle, and about how this day would go down in history. Centuries from now, they would be exalted as heroes who protected the purity of wizarding blood.

"I would like for the following soldiers to come forward when I call their names. They showed impressive ferocity in today's battle and will be promptly rewarded, for I am a generous Lord and Master." An unnatural smile was still plastered to his face. "Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphous Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Blaise Zabini."

Draco gave a start at the last name mentioned. The others were predictable, but how did his best mate become one of the top fighters? He thought he had escaped with the rest of the Slytherins.

The four stepped forward. Aunt Bellatrix had a ridiculous smile on her face that matched Voldemort's. Shivers danced down his spine. He could barely recognize Blaise. Blood and gore dripped from his brow, coating his face.

They kneeled before the Dark Lord, and he went and touched each on their foreheads, as if blessing them for their loyalty. When he passed Bellatrix, she reached out and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe, sighing in ecstasy.

"What do you desire, my dear Bellatrix?" The Dark Lord grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes.

"Nothing my lord, the opportunity to fight for the cause is all that I need."

The Dark Lord nodded but looked into her eyes again. "I see your true desire, and you may obtain it as soon as you wish."

Bellatrix looked rapturous.

Draco wondered what his insane aunt desired the most. But then he decided against figuring it out. Whatever was waiting for her was probably too fucked up for him.

He went down the line, giving wealth to Dolohov and a higher ranking to Lestrange, and then he got to Blaise. He looked into his friend's dark eyes, clutching his chin with bony, grey fingers, and a high-pitched chuckle escaped the Dark Lord's lips.

"Oh, this is amusing. Tell them, Blaise Zabini. Tell them what you desire. I am sure the young traitors would like to hear this."

Blaise turned around. He gave a hard smile. Crimson coated his teeth, making him look frightening, not like the even-tempered boy he knew so well. Draco wondered whose blood dripped form his brow. Who had his friend killed in such a violent manner it gained the approval of the Dark Lord? It bothered him more than it should.

"Ginevra Weasley."

Ron Weasley jumped from his position in outrage, the fight returning to his eyes. His face twisted bright red in anger, looking like a bull ready to charge.

"No, you fucking won't!"

Ginny's face paled, and she hid behind her two brothers who jumped in front of her for protection.

The Dark Lord turned his attention to Ron.

"I don't believe you're in a position to make such bold statements, Ronald Weasley." He shot a curse at the ginger, and he dropped like lead, glued to the ground. "Now Blaise, go and claim your prize."

Blaise stepped forward with determination. When he reached Ginny, he yanked her up.

"Please, don't do this," she begged. "If you have any decency, you'll let me stay with my brothers."

Her two remaining brothers struggled to reach her, but one was locked to the ground and the other held back by two burly Death Eaters.

Blaise looked indecisive for a moment, as if he wanted to give in to her pleas. But then his face hardened and pulled her closer.

"Shut up and be grateful I would even want to touch a blood-traitor like you."

To Ginny's credit, she stood up straight, a vicious look in her eye. "Whatever you're planning, I won't make it easy. I promise I'll make your life miserable for my entire existence."

A flash of something crossed his best mate's face, before he scowled. He gripped her arms tightly, bringing her around to face him.

"What do I care? Do or don't, it's none of my concern, but you will marry me."

Her face filled with horror. She miscalculated what Blaise wanted and pulled back, understanding the gravity.

"I won't marry you!" Her voice cracked. "I was supposed to marry—"

She stopped herself just in time, but the audience could fill in the blank.

Blaise sneered at the implication. "Well, now you won't. Get used to the idea."

Draco sympathized with Blaise. His friend had been in love with the redhead weasel since second year— the very first time he saw her in Flourish and Blotts. He tried to hide it from everyone, but one night during the wizard version of truth or dare he admitted his secret. Since then, it became a source of inside teasing in the Slytherin common room, though not a whisper of it exited. In some ways, Slytherins were more loyal than Hufflepuffs.

Blaise tried to work up the courage to talk to her several times, but he always chickened out at the last moment. The girl looked past Blaise anyway, always having her eye on some other wanker. The worst night had been in sixth year. Blaise picked some flowers, combed his hair, and attempted to ask the Weaslette to Hogsmeade. She had just broken up with one of her many repugnant boyfriends, and it was now or never, or so his best mate thought.

But then Blaise caught the redhead and Potter snogging in a hallway and returned to the dungeons in a jealous rage—the only time he'd ever seen the Italian lose his cool. This was different from her other boyfriends, more serious. He had lost his chance forever. How could Blaise compete against the wonder boy?

Though the girl didn't know it, Blaise had saved her from a terrible fate by claiming her. If she ever got off the ground and stopped acting like a lunatic, that is.

By this point, Ginny had dropped to her knees giving low, keening sobs, completely losing the plot. Though most of the crowd wasn't paying attention anymore, a small crowd kept their eyes on them, thinking them amusing.

Blaise ran his fingers through his hair. The only tell he gave that he was growing anxious.

"You need to stop crying."

This only made her cry harder, and when he reached down to touch her, she flinched away.

"Get away from me, you foul creature."

The redhead backed away swiftly and stood up. There was fire in her eyes, crackling with rage.

Once again, he went forward to grab her, but she slapped him hard. His face whipped around with the blow.

The surrounding Death Eaters cried with laughter.

"Are you sure you can handle a bitch like that, Zabini? How about you let a real man tame her?" Draco looked for the face who said that and found Avery, laughing the hardest.

Did the bitch not understand what she risked? In this crowd, that type of stupid courage only got someone killed, especially since the dark lord still watched the scene with calculating eyes.

Blaise gave a fierce glare. He grabbed Ginny and smacked her back. A red welt appeared where his hand hit. She gave him no choice, acting like that, but he knew Blaise would regret it later.

"I said you are mine," Blaise whispered. "And if you ever hit me again, I'll make you wish you hadn't."

She snatched his wand hand and placed the wooden tip against her throat. "I'd rather be dead than spend one more second in your presence."

Little lines appeared around Blaise's eyes and mouth, as he grimaced. Draco winced at the insult.

"That can be arranged, but only after I've had my fun."

He tugged her forward and kissed her. The crowd gave taunts and whistles. To them this was great entertainment. Even the Dark Lord found amusement in it: Potter's former girlfriend given away like a cow at the market.

Ginny wrenched herself away from him, face contorted in disgust, blood now smeared on her face, and Blaise didn't make another move towards her.

Ron and the twin still shouted from the sidelines, but there was no way to save her.

The Dark Lord turned his attention to the display of anguish before him. "Don't worry about your sister, Ronald. Her fate will be better than yours."

The Weasel's legs unlocked, but with the threat his body stayed rooted to the spot.

The words left the survivors shivering with dread, their faces already resembling the dead. The Weasel gave a look of defeat, and once again hung his head low, face still red, but blotchier.

The Dark Lord's eyes stayed on the small mass of bodies before him, going over each face with a thoughtful expression.

"I see Potter's best friend, but where is the mudblood? Where is the _Brains_ of the Golden Trio?" His voice held disdain for the title. "Did she die in the battle?" He looked pointedly at a small man to his right. The man pushed up his glasses, fidgeting with nerves. Draco couldn't remember his name, but assumed he was responsible for tallying who lived and who died.

"N-no s-sir. Her body wasn't found. "

"Did anybody see her?" The Dark Lord asked this to the general assembly. "I remember specifically telling everyone to leave the mudblood alive. Someone better have seen her, or every one of you will feel my wrath."

Maybe Blaise's route was the best option. He made a quick decision and stepped forward, all eyes on him. Draco's mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

"I saw her my Lord." Draco felt naked under the crimson gaze, but he held his stare and attempted to build the occlumency walls.

"Why did you not try to stop her?"

"She put on an invisibility cloak." Draco had an uncanny feeling his Lord knew he was lying about how Granger escaped.

"So, the mudblood wanted to play hide-and-seek, did she?" His eyes scanned the crowd and the grounds. "I know you're here, Hermione. Come out and see me. I just want to talk." The way her name rolled off his tongue made Draco's stomach twist in anxiety. Sweat dripped from his brow, running down his cheek. "Fe-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of mudblood scum… Last chance, Hermione Granger."

Draco didn't understand the joke, and neither did anyone else, but it still sent the drunken Death Eater's into hysterics. They gripped their sides in pleasure and pain.

The Dark Lord brought his wand up and down in a flurry of motions, and a fierce wind exploded from the tip of the dark lord's wand, blasting air across the grounds with the force of a hurricane. It nearly pushed Draco to the ground, making his eyes sting with tears.

As fast as the wind had come, it died down.

He looked up, and his heart stopped beating. There, not but ten feet from the prisoners, sat Granger, the cloak beside her in a heap. She had been crawling to the survivors, invisible under the cloak. A small object rested in her hand, which she quickly stowed away in her pocket before anybody else could see.

Draco was close to her, closer than any other person, and he leaped for her. This was his chance, and if she had any sense, she would not fight.

She scrambled, grabbed the cloak, and jumped to her feet, running hard towards the forbidden forest.

He took off after her, his long legs sprinting.

Granger was surprisingly fast, but he was faster. He caught up to her as she reached the edge of the trees.

His fingers reached out, grasping for anything to hold unto. They touched her hair, and without thought he yanked back. She crumpled to the ground with the force, wand exiting her hand with force. He plucked it from the ground before she could get it.

Draco didn't give her anytime to recover before pulling her back to the crowd. His fingers tangled in her hair, and her back dragged on the ground. She screamed with pain, but he didn't stop to let her up. The crueler he seemed, the more likely she would survive. Though the screams made the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

As he tugged her across the school grounds, Hermione looked up at him. She stopped struggling and rummaged in the sack around her neck. He almost let go of her hair to stop her, but she pulled out a little object before he could and threw it in his face. It exploded in a cloud of stinking dust.

A fucking dungbomb!

Draco gagged and released Hermione with the overwhelming smell, swiping at his face. His eyes burned.

"Ron," she screamed, "Do it now!"

Hermione pulled out something else from the purse and chucked it to the ground. Black tendrils floated to the sky, just as she slammed into him, yanking her wand away.

The cloud obscured everything, and it took a moment to understand that she also used Peruvian Darkness powder. With the dark came chaos.

"Not without Ginny!"

"I've got her!" A voice that sounded like the Looney Bin's floated from the crowd like a ghost.

The sounds of war began again. The shuffle of bodies, flashes of yellow, red, and orange, and green. He tried to avoid them while moving forward, placing his hands out in front of him. He stumbled over a body and got back up.

"What do you think you're doing bitch?" Blaise voice was unmistakable even in the melee and then he gave a shout as if in terrible pain.

"See you never again, asshole," a voice he recognized as Ginny yelled back.

Screams. Shouts. Cracking spells. Bodies thudding, flesh against flesh. And two loud pops. The darkness faded.

When the light trickled in, Draco surveyed the damage, still reeling in confusion. What the fuck just happened? One moment he had her, and the next...

Three of the survivors were dead, including Padma, but most of the curses had hit Death Eaters.

"Where are the rest of them?" Bellatrix asked, with her wild hair frizzed to the sky. Blaise stared down on empty hands. His nose looked broken, bones offset.

"I had her...and the bitch... that fucking bitch took her."

Blaise didn't need to explain it to him. The rest of the survivors were gone...vanished. No trace of them to be found. Black cloaks fluttered around in nervous confusion.

The Dark Lord walked in their midst, separating them without words or magic. They melted away, afraid of the inevitable anger. Malfoy stayed low to the ground, trying to avoid detection. After all, it was his fault Granger escaped, and now he had failed twice.

"It seems the rumors hold some merit, at least in a rudimentary sense." He walked around the patch of ground where the survivors had stood. His face thundered and then cleared, and then he tipped his head back and gave a jolting high-pitched laugh. No one else joined him. The crowd rested on a wasp nest, vibrating on their feet with nerves. "There is great irony here. It's obvious to those who are looking."

"What is funny, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked. She was the only person in the world brave or stupid enough to engage The Dark Lord after such a failure.

"My dearest Bellatrix," he said as if caressing. His most dangerous form of voice, he had discovered during his time at Malfoy manor. "All along, Harry Potter's friends expected him to die." He gave a grimace that showed his control teetered on the brink. Draco flinched for the inevitable fallout. "The little mudblood used a portkey—or as I suspect, two portkeys—to escape. Someone would have had to create them on the basis the chosen one would fall. They knew he would not survive my might." He stood silent for a moment in thought. "A slight inconvenience, nothing more… the mudblood thinks she is clever, but I believe she'll discover her intelligence is a drop of water compared to my ocean."

The crowd cooed their agreement, tripping over themselves to appease him. Draco stayed silent and hidden, but not for long. The Dark lord turned to him, addressing him directly.

"What is lost can be found." He drew his wand and with a forward slash caught Draco with a powerful cruciatus curse. The pain was instant and mind-numbing. There was nothing before and nothing after. He lost sense of time and self. Nothing mattered anymore besides escaping it. He tried to cry out but bit his tongue. Hot blood trickled down his throat.

The pain vanished with the cessation of the curse, leaving Draco twitching and convulsing on the ground, but otherwise clear-headed.

"Draco Malfoy, your failure will not be overlooked. For this grievous error, it will be up to you to find the Undesirable number one, the greatest filth of our kind, the representation of all that we are against. You will find Hermione Granger and bring her to me _alive_." The Dark Lord waited until he could raise himself to his knees. Draco almost vomited but held it down. "If you succeed, I will grant you what you desire most. If you fail, I will take away everything you have ever loved."

It was a new world. A dangerous world. And as a Malfoy, he would have to do what needed to be done for his family. Though that wouldn't stop him from getting what he wanted either. His mind clicked along, trying to come up with a plan.

Before leaving the Hogwarts battlefield in a stupor, his eyes locked on a rumpled piece of cloth, abandoned. It took him a moment to identity what he was looking at, but when he did, he couldn't help but smile, despite the situation: Potter's invisibility cloak.

Without it, Granger wouldn't be able to hide for long.


	6. Lessons of Hate

**Song Suggestion:** Rag'n'Bone Man— "Human"

**A/N:** This story will flipflop in time for the first half until I reach the point where the events of the first five years of war converge with the present.

**Lessons of Hate**

**Present Day **

**Draco**

The room was quiet. It was the first time Draco was completely alone since his display of wandless magic. Too bad he hadn't been able to do it since.

Granger's voice rose and fell in the opposite room. Terrance and the Golden Girl argued over if he should live or die. Whether Granger was winning the argument didn't matter. No doubt Terrence was trying to talk some sense into her.

_Do your best_, _mudblood_, he thought, _but they'll still blow my brains out._ If they had their way, that is. Draco wasn't too eager for death. He survived the battle of Hogwarts; he survived Voldemort living in his house; he survived his awful sixth year… he refused to die as a captive by such a primitive muggle weapon. They wouldn't give him the decency of a wizard death, wand to temple, and Terrence would volunteer to hold the gun.

If nothing else, Draco Malfoy was resourceful when backed into a corner.

In the end, wards were only as powerful as their loophole.

As he sat, he planned. And he waited.

**Draco **

Granger walked in and rubbed a hand under her nose. Her once golden skin turned blotchy and red. Hermione Granger wasn't a pretty crier. Her hair took on the negative energy, flying skyward.

"Wonders never cease. Are those tears for me?" Draco leaned back, feeling better than he had in months.

Hermione's eyes shot up and met his. She didn't attempt to hide her misery. That fact alone would make her unsuitable for Slytherin. He expected her to make a defensive remark back to him. What he didn't expect was what came out of her mouth.

"I can't help that I care." Hermione sniffled again and sat down next to the stack of books she left outside his cell. Her shoulders slumped. "I don't think you understand the seriousness of your situation."

Draco attempted to speak at first but couldn't. The thought that she, Hermione Granger, cared for him, Draco Malfoy, was so out of the realm of possibility it took a moment for him to digest the information.

"I know, I know," he finally recovered, rolling his eyes. "They want to kill me... sooner rather than later. Honestly Granger, I'm not incapable like Potter and Weasel. I have a high-functioning brain that can analyze a situation. You don't need to explain it to me."

Granger looked up. She was a mess. With streaks down her face, her nose looked twice its normal size. In all honesty, he should capitalize on her brief ugliness and allow it to repulse him. But the only thing he wanted to do was brush the underside of her eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

"How can you not care?" Her face scrunched. "You're going to die. After all the work... after all the hope that..." She slumped, drained of passion. "Did you even read the book?" She stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

"Twice, and I found it unbearable. I'm not sure it got across the message you intended."

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief and then narrowed.

"And what, if I may ask, is so unbearable about it?"

"Let me summarize," he sneered. "A man named Hitler rounds up a bunch of people to kill their families and work them to death for inane reasons. It was during some sort of war. But from what I understand, there was little point to the whole operation, just blatant cruelty. If you're trying to convince me muggles deserve my sympathy, I'm not sure this is the right place to start."

Hermione traced her fingers on the spines of the books. He followed the path or her finger up and down, up and down as she took a moment to think.

"The muggle world is complex," she said quietly. Draco snorted and crossed his arms on his chest. "No, really, it is. Much more so than the wizarding world. There are thousands of cultures, sub-cultures, religions, ethnicities. Each one hates the other a little, is a little afraid of what's different. Though the world now attempts stop the evolution of hate, it still happens on a frequent basis. What Hitler did is called genocide: the deliberate killing of a large group of people. Some of the genocides in the muggle world are based on skin color. They—"

"Hold the fuck up," Draco stopped her. "So you're telling me muggles actually kill each other based on the color of their skin?"

The whole idea was unbelievable.

"Well, yes, but the holocaust—"

"Is this supposed to endear me to your race of insects?"

"I think you're missing the point." Hermione gained some color into her cheeks again. Her eyes sparkled. Draco preferred on fire, as if she could melt the ice from the world. "I'm not trying to convince you to like muggles. I'm trying to convince you we're all the same. You can substitute race for anything. Genocide doesn't have a reason; it has placeholders. Replace it with religion. Replace it with nationality. Replace it with—

"Blood purity," Draco finished. He understood what she was getting at long ago. He just liked getting under her skin.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Replace it with blood purity. The underlying thread of genocide is power. Nothing more or less. _There is no other reason._ Your Dark Lord could care less about blood purity. He manipulates the fear that exists-"

"And how would you know this?" Draco allowed himself to get indignant. He hated her most when she tried to tear down his foundations, the structures he built his life on. He had no real hatred towards mudbloods or muggles. Draco just believed they should keep to their own for the most part. "There have been centuries of studies proving Pureblood magic has been diluted due to integration. We are a fraction of what we used to be, and the only way we can regain what we lost is if the mudbloods—"

"Oh, please," Hermione said, standing up. "Don't tell me you believe that hogwash. The studies were stacked with biased researches intent on finding points to prove their argument. In fact, they deliberately fudged some of the—"

"You may have a brain the size of a hippogriff, but you stuff it so full of useless facts you wouldn't know common sense if it hit you—"

"I can tell you exactly why your Dark Lord is a fraud on a greedy power grab to—"

"Oh, this is enlightening. Are you going to tell me the inner thoughts of the Dark Lord now? It would be better if you shut up—"

"Your Dark Lord is a bloody half-blood! His father was a muggle. That's how I know, you blind imbecile."

Draco sucked in a breath at the accusation.

"How dare you!" He stood up as well, pressing his nose against the glass and glaring. "You filthy little liar."

_When I get my hands on you... _Draco's thoughts took a steep dive towards darkness. Yes, he hated the Dark Lord, and yes, he was a manic psychopath. But Draco had always comforted himself that in the end, the Dark Lord was the epitome of pureblood values. His agenda would be worth it in the end, despite all the sacrifice and terror. Draco's whole life had been built and shaped around this principle. It was who he was.

He wanted to dismiss her, but the look in her eyes was sure and confident. It caused him to ease up on the glass.

Not that it was true... but how could she know such thing, especially when he didn't? Would his father know?

"I don't believe you," Draco said. "Mudbloods are inferior creatures. Their only value is in their use to us, and those are few and far between. Their magic is a joke, a pale shade compared to a Pureblood. Nothing you can say or do will make me believe otherwise."

"Inferior!" Hermione shook with rage. The fingers of her right hand trembled next to the pocket where she kept her wand. "Inferior! I can't believe what I'm hearing. If muggleborns are so inferior, then what does that make me? Not only did I outwit your supposed Dark Lord multiple times, but I beat you in every class for six straight years in a row. In fact, if you're supposed to be the embodiment of blood purity... when have you won at anything?"

Draco concentrated on his breathing, on his lungs filling and then releasing. If he didn't, he'd lose all reason. Something about the bint made him go mad! And Merlin, she had a point. She always had a fucking point.

"You're just a freak," he said finally. "A side-show attraction. Like a monkey doing sign language. It wouldn't happen in nature, but if you take an animal out early enough, you can teach it to do tricks. Dumbledore taught you—"

"Rot and die, Malfoy," Hermione cut him off. "I was the only person in this facility who gave a flying fig, and now I might not even cry at your execution."

Hermione twisted and walked out, slamming the door so hard it rattled behind her. After Draco calmed himself down enough to think rationally, he regretted the argument. He wasn't sure how much of it he meant or not.

But it didn't matter.

Either way, escape or die, his time behind these bars was mercifully ending soon.

**Draco **

Hermione came in later with a tray of food. The action gave her away. She could have ordered someone lower on the totem pole to bring him the food, but she did it herself. Malfoy was starting to believe her—she did care. He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole idea.

"Can't seem to stay away, can you? Admit it Granger, I've got a certain magnetism." He leaned back against the bed with lazy confidence.

Hermione was no longer crying. Her face turned to stone, lips in rigid lines. The hardness made her look off. He'd do just about anything to crack it.

"Go on then, fling my food away at the last moment. It's what your type have been known to do."

Hermione glared at him before lifting the latch and sliding the food through the small door. She began to walk away, but half-way to the door, changed her mind. She pivoted, still glaring.

"You always make me out to be cruel. But I'm not. Not like—"

"It seems you are forgetting how kind of a jailer I was to you."

Granger pulled back a little.

There was a point during the war where their situations had been reversed. It made Draco's gut tighten just thinking about it. The whole time she was sequestered at the top of Gryffindor tower like a princess guarded by her very own Draco, just waiting for the evil king to come home. He would lie awake every night plotting and scheming, trying to find a way to keep them both alive and get what he wanted.

He would never forgive her for escaping him. Not in a million years. The number couldn't even soothe him this time. The consequences had been too high.

"I was going to say like your Dark Lord. But since you brought up the subject, I'm under no illusions. If I had gone along with what you wanted, on the fraction of a chance surviving the homecoming of your Dark Lord, I would have been miserable."

Draco's face tightened. He clenched his hands in his sheets.

"Miserable? Is that the way you see it?"

Granger opened her mouth as if to say something but shook her head.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way. You have been in my life since I turned eleven. I will shed a few tears... and then I'll try to never think of you again."

_Not a bloody chance in hell, bitch! I will not be some footnote to your life. _

It was time to show Hermione Granger that even in a cage a snake is dangerous.

**A/N:** So it's unclear whether the Death Eaters knew of Voldemort's blood status. In this story, unlike my other one, only a few do.


	7. A Cabin in the Woods

**Song Suggestion:** alt-J – "Hunger of the Pine"

**A/N:** This fic will have several povs that will all converge. The breaks in time will be filled in until they all reach the present. I feel like Pansy is an underrated and underwritten grey character, and I LOVE writing her.

**A Cabin in the Woods**

**3 years after the Final Battle**

**Pansy **

Pansy wasn't sure how she got forced into playing babysitter. The night started out promising. It was the third annual celebration of Victory Day, and her mother had been planning their angle for weeks.

"You need to be innocent yet alluring. You're competing with the remaining bitches of the light. For some reason, the men find them appealing."

Pansy knew the reason: you don't tell men like Draco Malfoy they can't have something. Pansy tried for years to get his attention. Her seduction attempts always failed because it was too easy. One word to their parents and they'd be engaged on the spot.

She was twenty-one, nearly the age where pureblood girls became spinsters if they did not marry. Her mum was becoming a nag about it, and truth be told, Pansy was starting to get worried as well.

She cared less for the trappings of marriage. They did not suit her. She knew what was expected from her as a potential high society wife, and she would become it if she must, but the thought of her never-ending future made her stomach tighten.

Especially since, at this point, most of the young men were taken: Blaise had Weasley; Draco had been suckered into an arranged engagement with the younger Greengrass sister; Nott told her years ago he hated her; and Goyle had the Looney Bin. She could go on, but it would be redundant.

Her choices dwindled until all that was left were men like that sick freak Avery or the younger Lestrange brother. Pansy would rather suck slug slime.

However, today the choices widened. The celebration drew many wizards from across the world. Eligible bachelors from Romania, Russia, China, and multiple other locations were supposed to be in attendance. Like a multi-cultural candy bowl ready to be devoured.

It was one of the last times she would have to snag a husband that would appeal to her.

And now it was all ruined.

She wore a gorgeous outfit for the event. A little black robe that fit snuggly around her curves, as scandalous as was allowed with Pureblood traditions. It didn't place much emphasis on her cleavage, since she had little to begin with, but displayed her long legs and trim frame. She wore her short hair in curls, spending hours on makeup, buffing herself to perfection.

And it was all for nothing.

Bellatrix grabbed her arm as she had walked through the Hogwarts castle to the great hall and redirected her to the nursery.

"Listen dearie, you're on guard duty tonight."

"But," she protested, "The elves—"

"Are you questioning me?"

Pansy shook her head, displaying her survival instinct. No one questioned Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Good. You'll be relieved of duty at midnight."

Midnight! Her anger sprouted extra heads. By midnight, her entrance would be pointless. By that time, most of the wizards would be drunk or gone to smaller parties.

They walked into the nursery, and she saw close to ten children. The only one that mattered sat in the center of the room, scooting around on a toy broom, changing his hair color every few minutes—Teddy Lestrange, formerly named Teddy Lupin.

"Listen sugar lump," she knelt before the little boy, "mummy is going to a party. Be good for Mimpsy and Miss Pansy."

The little boy nodded, probably not understanding and continued his little scoot in the circle.

Pansy tried not to let it shock her, but it always did to see the most feared witch playing mum. And truth be told, she was quite good at it. It was no secret Bellatrix was barren, despite all magical interventions. Too much dark magic sifted through her veins. So shortly after the Final Battle, she stole the little half-breed, her prize for her loyalty from Voldemort, killing Andromeda in the process.

"He's my blood," she once said when Avery made a disparaging comment about his werewolf heritage. "The last of my family line, besides Draco. And the next person who questions my motives will have their entrails on the floor."

No one questioned it again.

Who could have guessed what Bellatrix Lestrange wanted more than anything else in the world was a baby?

"Parkinson," she snapped on the way out, "If anything happens to the tykes in my absence, I'll dice you into little bits and eat you for dinner."

Pansy gave a silent nod, swallowing the lump in her throat, knowing the threat was literal. Bellatrix had done it before.

She whirled out of the room, a flurry of dark robes and unmanageable curls.

Pansy leaned against the wall with arms crossed, trying to tame her anger, her hopelessness.

So this was it? She'd have to marry and bed some geriatric death eater, living a life devoid of passion.

Her attention stayed on the little ones in the room. After several hours, the room emptied as the parents came to pick them up. Thirty minutes before midnight there were only three left. Teddy had curled up in a corner, sound asleep. Next to him, a tiny infant slept in a cot, the product of that horrid Peter Pettigrew and some poor girl he raped and married. If rumors are to be true, the mother killed herself shortly after the birth, and Pansy didn't blame her. She'd kill herself too if she had to fuck that rodent.

Lastly, there was a small girl named Nym. She sat silent in the corner, not having played or talked in the whole duration of the night. She was a pretty thing, but the child of a blood traitor. Still, she was a pureblood so Voldemort ordered the Carrow twins to foster her. Pansy did not envy her, remembering their idea of discipline at Hogwarts.

The elves stayed out of sight, since Teddy was frightened of them, and would not come back in unless she called. They only came in briefly to deal with the baby and to conjure a pillow and blanket for Teddy. It left Pansy in a comforting silence that almost lulled her to sleep. She leaned her head against the wall in abject boredom and couldn't stop her eyes drooping as the clock tick-tocked a steady rhythm.

She bolted upright with a noise at the door.

"Damn," someone hissed. Red and orange sparked under the door, and the door bulged in and out.

Someone was trying to get passed the wards, and from the looks of it, succeeding.

_What. The. Fuck. _

In a hurry, she swooped up little Pettigrew in one arm and little Teddy in the other. They began crying from being roughly woken. Nym crawled over and hugged tight to her leg. They had just enough time to cross the room before the door burst from its hinges, slamming heavy against the opposite wall.

A disheveled man walked in with a holster attached to his upper body with several extra wands and a muggle gun slung low on his hips. But the defining feature was his dark red hair.

A Weasley, no doubt about it. But not Ron, of course. It was one of his twenty older brothers.

His eyes scanned the room, wand pointed at the ready.

Pansy scrambled in the folds of her gown. Her fingers barely touched the wood of her wand.

"Expelliarmus!" It flung across the room, leaving them without protection.

"Elves!" She called, but none showed up, and they wouldn't. They were nursery elves, unable to fight grown wizards, especially one that looked as rabid as the one before her.

"I thought… I thought," he stuttered as if finally taking in the contents in the room: just an overly dressed girl and three children. "Where is she?"

He pointed his wand at her throat and stomped forwards. Pansy trembled. She was not courageous, nor was she built for dueling.

"Who?"

"Ginny."

Right, his sister. He was on some sort of rescue attempt, but his calculations went wrong somewhere. Blaise's apartments were several rooms down, where a heavily pregnant Ginny Weasley slumbered, unable to attend the celebrations.

"You don't have time to find her" Pansy said, thinking quick. "The elves probably already informed Bellatrix, and she is already on her way up to slaughter you. This is her son I'm holding. Is it worth her wrath to stay?"

The Weasley spawn looked crushed for a moment, as if some hope in him died. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that must be a portkey.

"Not that you will, but if you see Ginny, tell her I'm alive."

"Which one are you?"

"Charlie."

The Dragon Tamer.

She gulped and nodded. Anything to get him to go away.

He almost did, but it was at that moment Teddy changed his hair from black to bright purple. Charlie looked as if something struck him.

"That's not Bellatrix's kid," he hissed. "That's Tonks' little boy."

She gripped the children tighter and tried to press harder against the wall, as if to escape. But there was nowhere to go. He was too big, too threatening, and he looked as if he wanted to gut someone.

"Give him to me," he said.

"No."

She'd die first. It would be much more pleasant than if she failed to keep the boy.

Charlie didn't listen to her and ripped Teddy straight from her arms.

Several things happened at once, almost too fast to process. Bellatrix slammed through the remains of the door with a howl, Charlie activated the portkey, and a desperate Pansy lunged forward, accidently touching the paper, a baby in one arm and Nym stuck to her leg.

There was a moment of shocked silence before with a stomach-churning whoosh of a portkey they were sucked away, leaving a furious Bellatrix behind.

**Pansy **

Pansy landed hard against the ground. The baby rolled out of her arms and squealed, half-buried in a pile of leaves. Nym sniffled somewhere. Pansy stayed prone, unable to regain the air into her lungs. Dark trees loomed overhead, only slivers of moonlight filtered through the treetops. They were in a forest.

But where?

A menacing figure leaned over her, patting her arms and legs with callused hands for any other weapons. She was unable to stop him, still attempting to suck in a breath.

"Are any bones broken?"

"My ankle," she managed. She had originally landed upright, but a sudden pop in her ankle crumpled her.

He examined it for a moment.

"I think it's just sprained." He rested on the backs of his ankles.

"The kids…"

"They're alright. I checked them first." She managed to glance over. Nym held the Pettigrew brat, who still squealed with the panic of the moment. Teddy sat next to her, tears puddling in his eyes and a thumb in his mouth. "You're a stupid girl. Do you know how much danger you're in?"

"You tried to take him."

"Yeah, and now I don't know what to fucking do with you." He glanced at the kids. "Not to mention three extra." His face thundered for a moment, and he tugged his hand behind his neck and up and over his hair, keeping the palm of his hand against his forehead a moment.

She attempted to scoot backwards, understanding his quandary rested on if he should kill her. But before she could go any further, he had his wand pointed between her eyes.

"Don't move." His mouth was covered by a thick beard, but she could see that his lips twitched up and down in irritation as his eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail. He seemed like he was born from the wild, perfectly at home in this unholy place. They stayed that way for several minutes before his face relaxed.

He stood.

"Come on, get up. You'll need to suck it up about your ankle because I can't carry you plus the kids."

She just looked at him in a stupor before scrambling to her feet. She hissed, unable to put full weight on her right foot, but still able to stumble around on her broken shoes.

He placed the baby in her arms. The squalling increased.

"You'll need to keep up. It's an hour journey to our destination, and if you slow me down, I'll take the kid and leave you."

She took a moment to study the thick, dark forest surrounding her. The trees seemed sentient, ready to swallow up any trespassers. Random hoots and growls of unseen animals reverberated around her. If he left her, she'd be lost and wandless, at mercy to the cruelty of nature.

He began walking without preamble as Pansy scrambled for a solution or a proper escape.

**Pansy **

Pansy gasped in agony with each step. As the night went on, the pain increased until the tears leaked down her cheeks at a steady pace. The dragon tamer did not lie or slow his pace for her. She stumbled after him, clutching the baby to her chest. Baby Pettigrew—she had begun calling him Pete—had stopped fussing a long time ago and fell asleep with the movement.

The agony was never-ending, and Pansy briefly thought about sitting down and giving up, but her fear won out and she trudged along.

"What's your name?" Weasley asked, voice gruff and low.

"Pansy."

"In this world, last names are more important. I'm going to need it."

"Parkinson," she ground out.

"Parkinson, huh? Your older brother is Orion?"

She hesitated.

"Yes."

"Your brother is a waste of human life. Let us hope, for your sake, you don't prove the same."

She almost agreed. She never shared any sibling affection for her brother. He was always brutish and joined the Death Eaters straight away. He was the reason she knew of the dragon tamer. Her brother would rant about him at home. They were bitter rivals, as the dragon tamer beat him at everything: grades, popularity, quidditch. Charlie Weasley was a bit of a legend in his time, something Orion couldn't compete with.

Looking at him now, at the ripples of muscles along his arms and back as he clutched Teddy to his side, she could see why. He looked more beast than man.

"How much further?"

The Dragon Tamer stopped for a second, and Pansy relished the small break. He glanced back at her several times up and down, his features clouding with something.

"Not long. I can heal your ankle when we get there. We don't have the time to do it now."

He planned to heal her. That was a good sign, right? But on further thought, she suddenly became wary. What did he plan to do with her? He was on the light side—the side with supposed moral views—but she had seen enough of war so far to realize the light did not always possess the characteristics they praised. Charlie Weasley was still a man, a powerful wizard, and she was just a girl without a wand.

There were many urges that weren't exclusive to sides, and the taste of human flesh was one of those.

"I think this little one needs a nappy change," she said, wanting another break.

"It'll have to wait."

Nym stumbled for the fifth time beside him, and he swung her up in one movement. The little girl rested her head on the man's shoulder, opposite of Teddy, and in just a few moments they were both asleep.

"But," she protested, wanting her pain to end, "If we don't change—"

Charlie swung around, his face livid, and he sneered at her in a way she hadn't experienced since Professor Snape. As if she was a silly adolescent, who shouldn't speak without being asked a question first.

"There are things in these woods that would gobble you up as a snack. Things much scarier than Dragons. It would be foolish to stop and rest."

"Why did the portkey take us to the woods and not a house or something?"

"So that if someone got a hold of it, they wouldn't be able to find the location".

"Oh, well… but why can't we just apparate?" She sounded whiny, even to her ears, and he was getting annoyed with the questions. She could tell by the tense lines in his shoulders.

"The magic in this forest is thick, ancient, and unstable. I won't attempt any magic unless in emergency until we get back to my cottage, which is why we need to move fast."

_His cottage. _

A spike of fear went through her. She glanced at the trees. As night went on, they seemed more sinister.

Pansy made up her mind, sucking in a gasp with the pain, and began walking forward again. Charlie gave a nod and followed.

**Pansy **

The cabin materialized out of the woods. One second it was a wall of never-ending trees, the next there was a small cottage. It had a thatched roof with a chimney. Its base was made of stones, cobbled together.

"We're here," Charlie said.

Some would call the cottage charming, Pansy would call it a dump, unfit but for the basest of rodents. But the pain in her leg throbbed, and she couldn't go on anymore.

She collapsed before she could enter. Charlie gave a sigh.

"It's not far."

"I can't go on," she blushed at her weakness. Never in her life had she endured such prolonged physical pain. She had always been pampered and coddled, even during the war.

Charlie hesitated, as if unsure what to do. Finally, he shifted the two toddlers in his arms.

"I'll go lay them down on the guest bed."

He disappeared into the cottage, leaving her in darkness to shiver with dread. Tears threatened to fall again, and this time it wasn't from the pain. How did she get here? Just last night she slept in a mansion with silk sheets, and now she lay here bedraggled and dirty. Pine needles stuck to her hair, with her ankle swollen and throbbing. But the worst thing of all: she was with the enemy. A man she couldn't read who could break her bones with a flick of his wrist.

Pansy took off her broken shoes carefully, unlacing the straps to reveal dried blood, discolored skin, and blisters rubbed raw.

The cottage lit up. The innards glowed, attempting to battle the darkness of the forest. Charlie exited again. When he reached her, he bent down and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. His chest was a furnace against her. His arm curled under her knees, touching bare flesh. Pansy refused to show how awkward she felt and leaned as far away from him as she could, refusing to look at him. The babe lay in her arms, mouth opening and closing.

"He's waking up," she said, "He's very little. What happens when he gets hungry?"

Charlie sighed again. It just now occurred to her that he may be as exhausted and downtrodden as she felt. Not only did he fail his mission, but he now had four hangers-on.

"I'll apparate to the nearby village and get him some formula."

Village? He ears perked up, a plan forming. If the village had a floo network working, she could be gone before—

"_Muggle _village." He gave her a warning look as if he could read her mind. "And it is nearby to apparate, not to walk. You are surrounded by miles of virgin magical forest, filled with ferocious beasts just looking for a stupid young maiden to devour. And if you're lucky enough not to be eaten by the beasties, then you will probably stumble onto the dragon reserve I help manage. And they don't like trespassers much either."

With each of his words, her heart sunk and sunk until it reached her toes. Her hopes could not go any lower.

She was good and truly stuck.

**Pansy **

He deposited her on a queen bed, tucked against the wall of one of the rooms. After, he went back to the fire in the main room. She could see him from her seated position. With one hand, she felt the patchwork quilt below her. It looked homemade.

"Where are the kids?" Pansy asked. She cradled little Pete in the crook of her arm. He began to make small fussy sounds and rooted his face into her skin.

"In the guest room."

"Where am I supposed to sleep?"

He stopped and turned around. She wasn't sure if his cheeks turned red or not, but the freckles pronounced themselves with the glow of the fire.

"You can go to sleep there."

"But isn't this—um, well, isn't this your bed?" She asked. The fear and wariness were back. What did he expect from her?

"Yes."

"Can I sleep with the children?"

"It is only a small sofa," he shrugged. "There is no extra sleeping arrangements. It makes more sense for you to sleep where you are. Besides… I'd rather have you close in case you get any stupid ideas."

Her heart palpitated.

"And will you be sleeping here too?" She tried to train her voice to be calm and cool.

"Of course."

She began to panic. The sensation rose in her chest, and she resisted the urge to clutch at her heart, as her breathing increased. When she looked back up, the Dragon Tamer was leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom, poker in one hand, pressed to the wooden floor.

"I'm not going to touch you," he said in a soft voice. "You don't have to be scared."

"I'd rather sleep on the floor."

"Once these flames go out, nighttime here tends to get very cold, even with warming charms."

"I can manage."

"Suit yourself."

After a few minutes of rummaging around, he came back clutching muggle money. "I'll be back in a few minutes with food for the baby, and then I'll heal that ankle of yours."

He winked out, leaving her alone for the first time. She attempted to stand, but a sharp pain shot straight up her leg, making her groan out loud. He didn't heal her first on purpose.

By the time Weasley returned, the babe in her arms was squalling again, balling little fists and trying to suck on them. Charlie held two bags.

"I'll need to wash the bottles and mix and warm the milk. It might take a few minutes."

"He's frantic," Pansy said. The sound of the baby crying so helplessly made her want to do the same. The minutes felt like hours as he rustled around in the kitchen, turning off and on water. But eventually, he came back in through the doorway, holding a bottle of milk.

Pansy took it from him and shoved it into the baby's mouth, not sure if she was doing this right at all, but he latched and sucked at a fast past. Halfway through, the baby slowed down, and his eyes fluttered open and closed as if tired.

Pansy felt eyes on her. She glanced up to find the Dragon Tamer looking at her as if studying for a test she wasn't sure if she was passing.

"You look uncomfortable," he said.

She readjusted the position of the bottle, so the baby would keep sucking. "This is actually the first time I've ever held a baby."

"You don't look like your brother much, except for your nose and your eyes."

_My pug nose_, she mentally added. At least, that was what she was teased with in school. Her father said it was a little button. But she knew better. As she got older, she came to terms with it, but it still stung.

"You know, he's one of the only people in the world I've wanted to Avada."

She almost gave away a shiver. If he hated her brother, would he seek out some sort of revenge on her? She needed to separate herself from Orion somehow.

"I got my mum's coloring, while Orion looks like my grandfather. And I'm not sure I like him much either. We barely even speak to each other."

He nodded.

"You were in the same year as Ron, right?"

Pansy hesitated and then nodded. Then she bit her lip, knowing it was a sore subject for him. After all, it had been a year almost to the day he had been publicly executed.

"I'm guessing you two didn't get along."

"Not much," she snorted. After a moment, she added, "I'm sorry that he well… that he's…"

She wasn't sorry. She didn't loathe him like Draco did. But he was a traitor, and his family member was currently keeping her captive. That cancelled any sympathy in her. However, if the Dragon Tamer saw empathy from her, maybe he'd treat her well.

Charlie didn't respond to her apology. He just tightened his jaw and looked at an opposite wall, as if lost in memories.

The baby finished eating. Pansy tried to hold him like normal, but he began to cry, arching his little back.

"What's wrong with him?" Pansy asked.

Pansy felt the weight of the mattress shift. Charlie sat next to her and held out his arms.

"Here, give me the tyke."

Charlie took him and put him over his shoulder, rubbing small circles on his back. Eventually, the baby released a little burp and calmed down. Charlie curled his nose.

"You're a stinky little one," he said with a small smile. He went to a cabinet got a blanket and then went to the bags he brought in, pulling out a stash of nappies and wipes. Pansy watched in fascination as he placed the blanket on the bed and started to undo the babies little outfit.

Never in her life had she seen a grown man change a nappy. Or even a woman. That's what nursery elves were for. The sight shocked her.

"What's his name?" Charlie asked.

"I'm not sure. I started to call him Pete because his father is Peter Pettigrew."

At the name, Charlie shuddered in revulsion.

"I don't want to think how that came about."

Pansy agreed. She always found Pettigrew repulsive.

Charlie opened the diaper.

"Well, it looks as if little Pete is a girl."

Pansy snorted, surprised she could laugh after all she'd been through. Charlie smiled back, as if pleased with the sound. She wished he wouldn't. His smile seemed real, as if she could trust him.

"Well, let's hope this isn't a sign the poor girl inherited her father's looks," she said

This time it was Charlie's turn to snort.

"What should we call her?"

"I guess…" Pansy started but then stopped to think. "I guess we can call her Petra, since it's the girl version of Pete."

Charlie finished the diaper change.

"You seem to know what you're doing with an infant," Pansy said.

"Well, I have five younger siblings, and…" he stopped as if something struck him. "No, I guess now I only have three… I think."

"Ginny is very much alive," Pansy said, unsure why she was trying to comfort him. Pansy never tried to comfort people, though now she was in a situation she never thought she'd be in, and she supposed it was best if her captor were in a stable mood.

"How is she?" He asked softly, "Is she finding any happiness?"

Pansy hesitated. Truth be told, Pansy thought Ginny was sort of a shrew. Blaise deserved better.

"Well Blaise treats her nice, and she's about to give birth."

"She's pregnant?" he boomed, on his feet in a second, his softness erased.

Pansy flinched backwards, and Charlie frowned and then sighed.

"I'm not mad at you," he said. "It's just… a shock. I didn't want this for her."

She calmed herself on purpose. After a while, she responded.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never met a fiercer witch. She's terrifying, and I'm pretty sure Blaise is a little scared of her too."

Charlie gave a twisted smile.

"That she is."

They sat in silence as Charlie swaddled the baby in the blanket and rocked her to sleep.

"Where will she sleep?" She asked.

Charlie walked over and opened a dresser drawer. He put a few folded blankets in the interior and laid Petra within.

"That'll have to do for now."

Once the baby was asleep, Charlie turned around and the space between them became awkward and heavy. She hadn't realized it, but the children had been a buffer, and now that they were all asleep, she felt very much alone in the presence of a grown man.

"Let me see to that foot."

He walked over and sat on the bed, cradling her ankle in his hand. His fingers brushed over the swollen skin that was already turning ugly shades of blue and purple.

He tapped his wand gently across the entire injury, mumbling the spell under his breath. There was a sudden sharp pain that made her gasp, and then instant relief as the tendons and muscles healed. In total, he worked on it for a solid three minutes, under total concentration.

"Feel better?"

"Yes," she said. His hand still cradled her ankle, and it was suddenly too intimate. She tugged it away. Charlie rubbed the back of his neck and stood.

"You can…"

"Well, I'll just… yeah…" Pansy mumbled, grabbing a pillow and relocating to the ground.

"I don't have any more blankets," Charlie said.

"I don't need them."

He looked as if he would say more. But instead he peeled off his shirt and crawled into bed, curling himself under the covers.

Pansy's cheeks burned, trying to erase the memory of her captor's bare torso. But the image stuck. He had a wide chest and thick muscles, defined on every inch of his upper body. She was used to boys with thin frames. Charlie Weasley was something she had never seen.

_Of course, he's fit_, she scolded herself, _he's a fucking dragon tamer_. _He doesn't sit around a manor and eat duck confit all day. _

But her reasons did nothing to slow her heart. Under all her snap and bite, she was just a girl. The legends of him were true—he was ridiculously handsome in a woodsman way.

"Weasley?"

"Yeah?" He flicked off the lights in the lamps, but the fire still roared in the other room, though it was dying without attention.

"What's going to happen to me?"

It wasn't a question someone should ask their captor, but she did anyway.

"I don't know," he answered. "Nothing yet. Just go to sleep and we'll worry about it in the morning."

Pansy agreed and sent a silent thanks to whatever God listened that the Dragon Tamer did not have the desire for unwilling flesh.

A plan already formed in her mind on how to kill him.


End file.
